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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28673436">Supercollide</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmberPuppy/pseuds/EmberPuppy'>EmberPuppy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, One Shot Collection, Pining, See each chapter for specific tags, Smut, mention of other characters, slight angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:34:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,742</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28673436</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmberPuppy/pseuds/EmberPuppy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The center of my universe is in your arms, and all the chaos crystallised, when you and I supercollide.</p><p>Basically a series of short (or longer) stories and one shots put together in one work because that's much more convenient. Refer to each chapter's summary for specific prompts / warnings / tags.<br/></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'll start by saying this- I used to dislike Martín. To be fair, he cost us Nairobi and I absolutely loved her. There's also a dark and twisted part of me that adores Andrés' calm and suave violence (The man is a beautiful contradiction, he's a work of art, and Pedro Alonso portrays him gorgeously well) and after his death, maybe I didn't give Martín enough of a chance. Then, I stumbled upon masterpieces of fiction about these two and Martín has grown on me. I had to go back and watch the episodes with a fresh set of eyes. Absolutely worth it.<br/>It made me want to write them, so now it's my turn to give it a shot.</p><p>I'll just leave this here, english isn't my first language and so I hope the writing isn't too bad, and enjoyable nonetheless.<br/>Thank you for coming to my TED talk.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Andrés doesn't die, so he gets to hurt Martín some more. Nairobi is queen and probably secretly ships it.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The glowing sun was setting on the horizon, streaking the sky with the most gorgeous shades from coral to crimson and bathing everything in warm golden light. It was making the sand, hot under their bare feet, shine like millions of minuscule grains of gold. The sea, buzzing with its dormant strenght, now and then offered a gentle wave that drenched the sand and licked at their bare ankles.</p><p>Andrés raised his glass of wine to his lips, but the tremor in his hand intensified with the effort the simple movement required and the deep and rich burgundy liquid sloshed around the glass and over its edge. A soft hand gently took the glass from him and he closed his eyes and exhaled slowly through his nose in passive surrender.</p><p>He opened them again when the gentle hands were back on his, folding his fingers to expose the taut skin between his knuckles. He watched as the sharp end of the syringe plunged into his skin to release the sweet relief of medicine into his body, grimacing as it stinged and burned. It was over as soon as it started and he exhaled the breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding.</p><p>"There you go, <em>cariño</em>."</p><p>"Thank you, Ágata."</p><p> </p><p>As the sun dipped below the horizon, the fleeting colors of dusk began to fade away. It was peaceful to just stand there side by side, their shoulders touching, sharing warmth and comfort without a single word being spoken. Andrés had often thought about his impending death. There was beauty in knowing when it would happen, he told himself, for he could make sure to truly enjoy everything life had to offer before surrendering to the peaceful arms of eternal bliss. Facing the sun, he’d told Sergio. That was how he wanted to die. On a beach, his face to the sun.</p><p>He’d thought he would die with Tatiana by his side, after burning through barrels of French champagne. Then, he’d thought he would die with dignity in that tunnel under the Royal Mint.</p><p>Now … Now he knew he would die on this beach, his face to the sun, as he’d told Sergio. Maybe not with dignity, but if he had to lose control of his sphincters, a deserted island with only Ágata by his side wasn’t the worst place for it to happen.</p><p>They had a bed on the shore, waves lapping at the bed base without ever reaching the ridiculously expensive memory foam mattress. Sometimes, when the night was warm and the sky clear, they slept there, bodies almost tenderly curled into one another, although they had a perfectly fine bed inside their house on the beach. Sometimes, they had wonderful sex under the moonlight. Really, it could’ve been worse.</p><p>Savoring his last sip of wine, Andrés licked his lips and chuckled to himself. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Ágata looking at him with a frown, thinking maybe he’d finally gone mad. <em>With a good enough reason, she’d betray him.</em></p><p>"Isn’t it beautiful ?"</p><p>Ágata hummed lightly but otherwise stayed silent. Over the year they had spent together on this island so far, she had learned not to indulge him when he suddenly got poetic and enigmatic and he loved that about her. As much as he loved people’s attention and praise, he curiously enjoyed Ágata’s stubbornness and the fight that tinted their relationship from the very beginning.</p><p>"Our story," he kept going, because he didn’t need her approbation to delight her with his thoughts.</p><p>She didn’t deny it. He wrapped an arm around her waist and she leaned into him.</p><p>Sergio had called him naive a few times before. Sure, Andrés had married five times and gotten divorced as many times, but he liked to believe love was a beautiful thing that couldn’t be timed. It had to be lived. Maybe his relationships weren’t very long-lasting, but for the time it did last, it burned bright like a ravenous fire consuming his soul and creating this sense of euphoria Andrés lived for. He could handle the lows, when the highs were this pure. Of course, the devotion never lasted and the sparks died. Andrés was then left with the cooling embers of his love and ran back to Sergio everytime, with a plan, a heist, anything. Like it meant nothing to him.</p><p>Denying his emotions was like a second nature to him.</p><p>With Ágata, things were different. The fire wasn’t all-consuming but had started from nothing to slowly grow into this constant flame that lit up the dark and kept them warm at night. Ágata challenged him sometimes —<em>Andrés, a suit on the beach ??— </em>and they fought over the most stupid little things, but then one of them eventually came around- mostly her, though Andrés sometimes made the effort. They made it personal, dropping the fake city names a long time ago. They talked a lot, about anything. About Ágata’s son or about Andrés’ previous wives. Andrés could sometimes go on and on about art or history and Ágata actually listened. He delighted her with anecdotes about Sergio and relished in the amusement on her face and her endearing laugh. He drew her, also. Countless times. Her body was captivating and once she caught him in the act, she started modeling for him.</p><p>They had something good going on, and Andrés thought it would be how it would end.</p><p> </p><p>But then, he didn’t die.</p><p>But then, Tokyo acted like a bitch and Rio fucked up and got himself captured and Sergio assembled them all again, like some kind of vengeful criminal squad.</p><p>How fucking irritating.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The only good things about it are the monastery and the masterful, gorgeous work of art of a plan that Sergio finally wants to execute. <em>Andrés’ plan. </em></p><p>Well. Andrés and<em> Martín’s</em> plan.</p><p>Martín who still dislikes Sergio with every fiber of his being. Martín who screams at his face when he comes to recruit him for the plan, because why the fuck would he help the guy who sent Andrés to who knows where for who knows how long, with no possible mean of contacting him. Fuck Sergio. He’d taken Andrés away for his boring plan in the Royal Mint, to makes photocopies while Martín had offered to <em>melt gold</em>, and once he was done, he still kept Andrés from him like the cruel bastard that he is. He’s never going to help him.</p><p>Except Sergio then says Andrés will be there, and <em>fuckity fuck</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Martín doesn’t know what he expected out of it. A beautiful, heartwarming reunion ? He has spent enough time with Andrés to know that’s out of the question— at best, he will get an enthusiast smile and his name on the man’s lips, <em>Martín!</em> but Andrés will keep it obnoxiously sensual but platonic and Martín will hurt all over again.</p><p>He isn’t prepared for the sight that awaits him. Andrés is swaying around to the music, with yet another woman in his arms, a genuine laugh escaping his lips, and suddenly, it’s fucking Tatiana flashbacks all over again. Andrés even pushes the audacity as far as to dance with that new woman in the same fucking courtyard. Let the flames of hell consume him alive.</p><p>Martín turns to Sergio with an indignated look— that was the only thing they ever agreed on, Andrés’ poor choice of women that couldn’t be trusted and his naivety that led him to fall in love when it was bound to fail from the start. They used to hate his previous wives together and he instinctively searches the man’s face for support, but he finds none. Fucking Sergio likes that woman, of course he does, she was part of <em>his boring little plan</em>.</p><p>But then Andrés spots him and he lets go of the woman to turn towards him and do exactly what Martín thought he would— enthusiastically call his name. He’d forgotten how good it sounded, forgotten what it did to his insides. He isn’t prepared. He’d planned on hating the man for eating his face then dumping that ‘No homo and you’ll probably never see me again’ bullshit on him, but it is now proving harder than he would’ve hoped.</p><p>He lets himself be pulled into a tight embrace, shuddering at the smell of Andrés’ cologne and the warmth of his body against his. As much as he wants to stand tall and strong, he melts against the man, soft putty against Andrés’ sharp edges, modeling himself around him to fill every empty space left for him to occupy. There never was much left for Martín, but he takes everything Andrés offers nonetheless. "I’ve missed you."</p><p>He doesn’t mean for the quiver in his voice. Andrés chuckles and pulls back, holding him at arm’s length by two hands firmly grasping his shoulders.</p><p>"Martín, it’s only been, what, two and a half years ?"</p><p>
  <em>Three years, two months and sixteen days. That’s how long it has been.</em>
</p><p>Martín swallows past the lump in his throat to offer a smile he knows is convincing- he has put on a facade for so long it’s becoming a habit, melting and twisting with his true being to form this new identity he now wears as a beautifully crafted mask. <em>Indifference.</em></p><p>"I’ve missed you too," Andrés finally says and pulls him back in for another hug. Martín buries his hands under the jacket of Andrés’ three-piece suit and encircles the his waist with his arms, holding him close, keeping him there against him. His heart is thumping in his chest and his breath hitches when he feels Andrés’ lips brush softly against his neck. It probably isn’t even a barely there kiss, but more of an accidental touch due to the way Martín pulls him in tighter and tighter, yet it still makes his heart skip a few beats and his blood rush south. He choses to let go before Andrés can notice anything, and takes a few steps back.</p><p>"Who’s that ?" Once again, he doesn’t mean to sound so bitter. He clears his throat and takes the opportunity to subtly rearrange himself in his pants while Andrés has his back to him to motion the woman over. Great. An official meeting.</p><p>"My dear friend," Ouch. Really, Andrés ? "this woman is a goddess, the most fantastic woman on earth. Nairobi." There is a twinkle in his eyes when he speaks about her, and to Martín’s dismay, the woman has one in hers too when she looks at him.</p><p>Martín always hated Andrés’ wives, yes because he is passionately and desperately in love with the man, but also because those women never truly loved him. Not the way he deserves to be loved, and not the way <em>Martín</em> loves him, with absolute devotion. The mere idea that Andrés has been in love with those women is preposterous, and yet despite his poise and obvious intelligence, Andrés is sometimes the biggest imbecile Martín has ever met. This Nairobi, however, she seems different. Sure, after their heist, Andrés and her spent about two years stranded somewhere together with the interdiction to talk to anyone else … and if she can still look at Andrés with such fondness in her eyes after two years alone with the man… Maybe she is the one, after all. The one Andrés has been looking for all this time, the one that <em>isn’t Martín</em>, because of a fucking <em>mitochondrion</em>.</p><p>"She’s lovely," he forces himself to say. Either Andrés doesn’t notice Martín sounds anything but sincere, which is unlikely, or he simply ignores it, for he laughs with excitement and moves past him to go slap his brother’s ass and pull him in a hug. Way too happy for his own good, that bastard.</p><p>Then the woman, <em>Nairobi</em>, clears her throat and he brings his attention back to her, only to notice her gaze is aimed lower. It takes Martín a second to understand, but when she raises an eyebrow at him with amusement, he remembers he is still painfully —and apparently, <em>visibly</em>— hard in his pants, no matter the fresh load of bullshit Andrés just jammed down his throat, and he feels embarrassment engulf him. Now she’ll think he gets off on the abuse— which isn’t entirely wrong now that he thinks about it, but only when it’s from Andrés. Mostly because abuse is what Andrés gives the most and that’s one of the many fucked up ways Martín has grown to love him. Through pain and devotion, the yin and yang, a fucking beautiful paradox.  </p><p>Martín can’t breathe. He doesn’t try to explain himself. He runs away.</p><p>Or, more accurately, storms off into the monastery and slams the door behind him.</p><p> </p><p>The night is warm and quiet and the stars, like diamond dust tossed into the dark blue sky, are shimmering in their heavenly finery. The scenery is splendid and yet Martín can’t bring himself to admire it. Andrés would love this. He’d find at least ten different artistic ways to describe it and make it sound like the most beautiful sight a man could set his eyes upon. That’s what Andrés does.</p><p>But Martín can’t see it tonight. He can’t see it through the tears welling in his eyes. Can’t see the beauty through the pain.</p><p>A small sob escapes his lips and he squeezes his eyes shut, biting at his fist and praying it will be enough to keep it all in and prevent the imminent flood. No matter how many times he tells himself he won’t shed more tears for Andrés de Fonollosa, he always fails miserably.</p><p>He feels more than he hears the sudden presence at his side- not Andrés. The energy is different, one he’s not familiar with. Martín refuses to look up and slightly turns his head to the side so whoever it is won’t see his tear-streaked face.</p><p> "You’re in love with him."</p><p>Martín scoffs at the obviousness of the statement. He isn’t exactly hiding it well and only Andrés can so easily pretend it isn’t there. Even Nairobi has picked up on it— not only on his obvious desire for the man, but also on the deeper sentiment behind it. Martín bites back the ‘so are you’ that almost escapes his lips, bitter and accusatory and plainly selfish, but it’s as if Nairobi knows exactly what he means to say, stupid women and their stupid superpowers.</p><p>"What Andrés and I have is different. Yes, Im very fond of him and I care about him deeply, no matter how much of an insufferable asshole he can be." Martín almost wants to laugh in spite of his tears, because <em>preach, girl. </em>"Because we’ve been through a lot together and then spent two years with only each other to talk to. Not because we were meant to be. It’s not a love story, not in that sense of the term. It’s almost like we’re family, in a weird and fucked up way."</p><p>Martín can’t stop his heart fluttering with the smallest of hopes. He finds his voice again and prays he doesn’t sound like he’s just been crying when he asks : "Why are you telling me this ?" He still doesn’t look up at her, but he feels her place a warm hand on his shoulder and press it once, twice. She’s comforting him.</p><p>"I’m saying the spot is open."</p><p>"He doesn’t desire me." Great. He definitely sounded whiny.</p><p>"He said that ? You do know Andrés says a lot of crap, right ?"</p><p>Martín is starting to like her. He offers the hint of a smile and wipes at his face with his sleeve, so he looks a bit more composed when he finally looks at her.</p><p>"Not this time, I’m afraid." Because Andrés ate his face then left. If he’d been into it, he would’ve kept eating his face.</p><p>Silence falls between them for a minute. This time, Martín looks up at the sky. It truly is beautiful, and suddenly stars look like thousands of minuscule beacons of hope shining silver against a veil of darkness. All of it because Nairobi lit a very small, barely there, flickering spark deep within his heart.</p><p>"I’ve heard a lot about you," Nairobi says with a soft smile. "Martín’s an engineer, he calculates complex equations and makes mathematics look like poetry. That’s not how you tie a bowtie, Nairobi, Martín does it way better, lucky me there is nobody here because I look like a clown. Did I tell you Martín wanted us to <em>melt gold</em> ? How dare you say my ideas are stupid, Martín loves my ideas."</p><p>Suddenly Martín feels warm all over and a faint tint of pink starts creeping up his neck and cheeks. "He talked about me … ?"</p><p>"All the time, cariño, it was unbearable. Now if you can use that pretty mouth of yours, he’ll be in your bed every night. Andrés is the thirstiest son of a bitch I’ve ever met."</p><p>Clearly she doesn’t know Martín.</p><p>Martín who’s now on a mission.</p><p>Martín who stands up with a small thank you and walks back inside with determination.</p><p> </p><p>Martín who chokes on his mimosa the next morning when Andrés sits with them all at the breakfast table and drops, deadpan : "Nairobi, you need to up your game. Martín sucks cock way better than you."</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>High School AU.<br/>Some smut (a blowjob), underage because, you know ... high school.<br/>I don't really know where I was going with this one, but Im okay with where it took me.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Firmly holding his tray with both hands, walking as fast as he can while also being careful not to drop any of the food he just bought at the cafeteria, Martín makes his way towards the table he and his friends usually sit at. He nearly trips in his own feet in excitement, finally reaches his friends and nearly slams his tray on the table before slumping into the empty seat next to Tokyo. Yeah, so he and his group of friends have this weird thing about calling themselves city names and thinking they’re very cool, <em>la banda. </em>That’s what high school does to you. They’d all regret it in a few years.</p>
<p>“Ladies, I have big news.” He pointedly ignores Denver’s protest that he and Rio aren’t ladies. “I have met the person with whom I want to lose my virginity.”</p>
<p>Nairobi chokes on her apple juice and Martín shoots her an indignant look as she breaks into a coughing fit, as if she were rudely interrupting him on purpose. Once she finally stops coughing, he doesn’t give her time to say anything.</p>
<p>“I have met a boy— NO, a <em>man</em>. I want to have his babies.” Martín never does things by halves.</p>
<p>“What’s his name ?” Tokyo asks, and that’s one very good question.</p>
<p>Martín shrugs. “I don’t know, but that’s beside the point.”</p>
<p>“It’s totally not, though.”</p>
<p>“Shhhh. Here’s how it happened.”</p>
<p>Martín had walked into art class that morning, quite early for once, a few good minutes before the bell rang for second period. The classroom was almost empty except for a student who had obviously stayed behind to talk to the teacher. He was wearing a <em>bordeaux </em>turtleneck— see, art class, Martín knows his colors  —and a pair of dark gray jeans that honestly looked fancy as shit and almost didn’t look like jeans, if that makes any sense. Martín just thought they looked classy. Martín didn’t want to interrupt so he just stood in the doorframe. The other student then nodded, wished the teacher a nice day and gathered his art supplies— from <em>Martín’s</em> desk, what were the odds —before walking towards the door. As he did so, he met Martín’s eyes and Martín felt like an electric current suddenly shot through his body. His body went numb and his heart started pounding in his chest with the vigor of a teenage first love. His lips parted on a shuddering breath when the student brushed past him and just like that, the most beautiful boy on earth was gone and Martín was left shaken to the core.</p>
<p>“The guy wore a turtleneck, who wears a turtleneck ? He was so <em>hot</em> and he looked intelligent and his eyes, oh boy his eyes, don’t get me started on them.” Martín grabs the milk carton on his tray and rips the top open, gulping down its contents.</p>
<p>“So you don’t know him and you want his babies. Palermo, you’re a whore.”</p>
<p>Martín looks up from his food tray, his fork full of mashed potatoes in mid-air between his mouth and his plate, forgotten.</p>
<p>“It’s <em>love,</em> Tokyo, not that you would know anything about that, you’re the biggest whore here.”</p>
<p>Tokyo elbows him in the ribs so hard he actually yelps and nearly throws his soup at her face, but Helsinki gently takes hold of his wrist across the table and says, oh bless his soul:</p>
<p>“This is a lovely story. Please don’t get your hopes up too much, though. Just in case.”</p>
<p>Martín loves him. Helsinki is a good friend. The others are a bunch of bitches. They all look at him like he’s gone mad and he momentarily hates them for it. Then, he switches back to enthusiasm, plasters a smile on his face and decides he’ll annoy them some more. The moment was just too good and the other boy too handsome not to talk about it.</p>
<p>“His eyes were brown and rich and dark, and when he looked at me, I felt <em>naked</em>, like he stripped me down and could see right through me. Then my heart went like that, boom boom,” He gesticulates for emphasis, throwing mashed potatoes everywhere because he’s still holding his fork. Tokyo grabs said fork from his hands and he doesn’t protest. “And now I need to seduce him.”</p>
<p>“How do you plan on doing that, genius ?” Nairobi raises an eyebrow at him.</p>
<p>“He has art class on Tuesday, first period, right before I do. I’ll just ambush him.”</p>
<p>“AMBUSH HIM ? Are you out of your mind ?” Denver exclaims with disbelief.</p>
<p>“Yeah, idiot, you’ll scare him away,” Rio adds.</p>
<p>And they would know, because they’re boys, right. Martín nods at this flawless logic and purses his lips. Surely there has to be a way to do this right.</p>
<p>“Maybe just start by trying to catch his name, or something,” Lisbonne suddenly says, and she often gives good advice, so Martín listens carefully. “Don’t be creepy. Be less … this.” She gestures vaguely towards Martín.</p>
<p>“You just pointed at all of me.”</p>
<p>“Exactly.”</p>
<p>Martín huffs in annoyance and stands up, grabbing his tray. “Fuck all of you guys, we’re not friends anymore.” And he dramatically walks off like the drama queen that he is. Of course, he never stays mad for very long, so by the afternoon break between third and fourth period, he’s talking to them again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn’t see the mysterious student again, which is a shame, because he doesn’t get to try any seduction technique on him. Martín doesn’t speak about him for a while and his friends also don’t bring the subject up, thinking maybe he’s forgotten. The next Tuesday morning, however, Martín doesn’t stay to chat with them after their first period. He runs to his locker to grab his art supplies, then rushes to the art classroom barely a few minutes after the bell, his heart beating so hard he feels it pulsing in his temples. As he waits next to the door for the last of the students to pour out of the class, he peers inside and there he is. His Adonis. Walking out of the class with a friend, talking softly and his voice does <em>things</em> to Martín, things that a voice shouldn’t be allowed to do, like a massive boner and a near heart attack. He steps aside to let him walk out of the class, and once again their eyes meet briefly. This time, the other boy gives a small lopsided smile and Martín’s brain shuts down. So bad, in fact, that he can’t even smile back, and he watches the other boy leave with a hint of despair. That was his chance, and he fucked it up.</p>
<p>He slowly walks into the classroom and slumps in his chair. Something suddenly catches his eyes, a beautifully crafted and surely expensive fountain pen left on the desk. For a second, Martín doesn’t dare touch it, afraid he might drop it and break it. Suddenly, he realises who this pen belongs to and his heart skips a few beats, so much so that he feels slightly nauseous as his fingers reach for the pen and he stands up. He breaks into a run, because that’s his only chance. Also because the blood flow through his brain is minimal and he can’t think clearly.</p>
<p>He spots him at last, the beautiful boy, his back to him, and he does the only sensible thing left to do.</p>
<p>“HEY !” Lisbonne would scowl at him if she saw him being … well, being <em>Martín</em>.</p>
<p>The beautiful boy stops in his tracks and turns around, a frown on his face, his eyes searching for the source of the scream. His eyes then fall on Martín as he finally reaches him, clearly out of breath and his face flushed with both embarrassment and the sudden exercice he just did.</p>
<p>“You … You forgot your pen.”</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>The other boy reaches for it and their fingers touch briefly as he takes the pen from Martín, who’s practically dying at this point. Either the handsome boy doesn’t notice, or he pretends not to. “Thank you.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, no problem … “ Martín breathes out.</p>
<p>He can’t tear his eyes away from him, and oddly enough, the other boy stares right back at him without moving. They stare into each other’s eyes for what feels like a minute but really could’ve been only a few seconds, before a voice calls “Andrés, you coming ?” and the handsome boy breaks eye contact, looking over his shoulder to call back that he is.</p>
<p>“Thank you again. See ya.” He offers to Martín with a smile and turns on his heels to join his friend. Martín stands there with his heart beating too fast and a very dumb smile on his face, because, <em>see ya ? </em>Yes please. Also, <em>Andrés.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Andrés ….</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>“Andrés !!”</p>
<p>Silence falls over his group of friends as they stare at him with wide eyes, at his sudden outburst. One minute he was setting his food tray down on the table, and the next he was screaming at their faces. That might explain the wild looks. Glancing around him to check if he attracted unwanted attention on himself -that would be horrible, if Andrés were there- he clears his throat and turns back to his friends.</p>
<p>“His name is Andrés.” He tries again, quieter this time.</p>
<p>“Like Sergio’s brother ?” Lisbonne looks up at him, raising an eyebrow at his confused face.</p>
<p>“Sergio? <em>Our </em>Sergio ?” Martín asks, blinking at her.</p>
<p>“Oh my god, in what world do you even live, Martín ?” Tokyo exclaims dramatically, and she uses his real name, too, that can’t be good. Because Martín now feels dumb, he falls into drama queen mode, because that’s just what he does.</p>
<p>“How did I not know that Sergio had a brother ?! You guys all knew ?? And you never told me ??”</p>
<p>“It wasn’t a secret or anything,” Rio sneers, the little brat with his angelic little face, Martín wants to punch him.</p>
<p>“Anyways, if we’re talking about <em>that</em> Andrés, I’d say don’t tap that. He’s bad news.” Lisbonne adds, and she would know, she’s been flirting with Sergio for a while and Martín knows she’s been at his house a few times before. He furrows his brow, knowing all too well that he can’t just listen to that piece of advice. He’s been dreaming about the guy the whole week.</p>
<p>“Maybe it’s a different Andrés, surely there can’t be just one guy with that name” Helsinki muses, always the nice one. Martín grabs him by the chin and places a kiss on his cheek.</p>
<p>“You’re right. There’s just one way to find out.”</p>
<p>So when Sergio joins them later during lunch, sitting next to Lisbonne and giving her a shy little smile as he pushes his glasses up his nose with a flick of his thumb, Martín has a plan. He dramatically drops into the seat next to Sergio.</p>
<p>“Sergio, my man, can you help me with the history homework ? Pretty please ?”</p>
<p>Sergio blinks at him the nods, a bit taken aback. “Sure.” He grabs his backpack, that he always carries with him like the nerd weirdo that he is, but before he gets the chance to get his history notes out, Martín stops him.</p>
<p>“Not now, I’m not wasting some perfectly good lunch time on this … At your house after school ?”</p>
<p>“ … That sounds like a even worse waste of time … “</p>
<p>“Ssshhhh. I’ll meet you at your locker after fourth period. Thanks, Sergio, my man.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Martín reaches Sergio’s locker after school, he’s glad to find him there waiting for him. They walk back to Sergio’s place and Martín fills the silence with delightful anecdotes that the other boy probably doesn’t care about, but he hums and nods now and then to make it seem like he’s actually listening and that’s good enough for Martín.</p>
<p>Sergio leads him to his bedroom once in the house and sits at his desk while Martín sits on the bed with absolutely no shame. He brought his history homework for good mesure and he lets Sergio explain for a while— he’s actually good at it and even though Martín doesn’t really struggle with history, he finds that he understands some parts better now that his friend is explaining. However, he isn’t actually there for homework and his plan to see if Andrés really is Sergio’s brother isn’t exactly working, what with the bedroom door closed and both of them <em>doing homework for real, how boring. </em></p>
<p>Suddenly, someone answers his prayers; the bedroom door opens and the most beautiful boy Martín has ever seen enters the room.</p>
<p>
  <em>Andrés …</em>
</p>
<p>Andrés who’s deliciously shirtless. Fine dark hairs on his chest, and trailing down his flat stomach and under the tantalizing waistband of his pants. If Martín looks hard enough, he can almost see the outline of his cock through the fabric. The man is a work of art and Martín can’t stop staring.</p>
<p>“<em>Hermanito</em>, have you seen my gray t-shirt ?”</p>
<p>“You don’t need a shirt,” Martín mutters under his breath, and wait, did he really say that out loud ?</p>
<p>Andrés’ eyes are suddenly on him and Martín feels himself blush under his gaze, but he holds it nonetheless. Andrés then laughs and turns back to his brother.</p>
<p>“Who’s your friend ?”</p>
<p>“Martín. I’m Martín and I can speak for myself. Also, we’ve met before.”</p>
<p>Andrés laughs again and Martín decides it’s his new favorite sound. “<em>Sí, </em>but you never told me your name.”</p>
<p>“You never asked.”</p>
<p>Martín doesn’t know where this new self-confidence is coming from, but he loves it. He knows he looks good, proud if not a little ballsy, and somehow he has a feeling Andrés enjoys it. He smirks and it earns him a smile in return. Then fucking Sergio breaks the spell by clearing his throat loudly and looking at them both with a frown on his face. Great, he disapproves. Of fucking course.</p>
<p>“I borrowed your shirt yesterday, it’s in the wash.”</p>
<p>“Ah. Well, thanks for nothing, <em>hermanito.</em> See ya, Martín.” And he leaves the room, closing the door behind him.</p>
<p>Martín lets out a shaky breath and throws his head back with a groan. He’s at least half-hard in his pants, his body always buzzing with need when Andrés is around. That boy turns him on so much he can barely stand it.</p>
<p>“I think we’re done with homework,” Sergio says, and Martín gets the feeling he’s subtly kicking him out, so he takes the hint and gathers his things. Sergio had once told him that in a group of friends, it’s statistically proven that you hate at least one of them. Martín didn’t need many more clues to understand he wasn’t exactly Sergio’s favorite, and still the guy helps him and talks to him and endures him most of the time. They’re fine … probably.</p>
<p>“Alright, thanks buddy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>Martín leaves the house and sadly doesn’t see Andrés again as he does.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He’s Sergio’s brother.” Martín says as he joins his friends at Tokyo’s locker the next morning before first period. It should be concerning that speaking about Andrés is how he greets his friends these days, the first thing that comes out of his mouth even before a ‘Hey guys’.</p>
<p>“Then you better get started with your moving on process” Lisbonne puts her hand on his shoulder and gives it a light squeeze. “While you’re mister virgin here, Andrés is fucking his way through his high school year, he’s had five girlfriends so far.”</p>
<p>“But he’s seventeen, that’s normal.” Once again, flawless logic. Seventeen-year-olds get to have all the sex and sixteen-year-olds don’t. Martín’s lying to himself.</p>
<p>It’s almost a miracle Martín didn’t lose his virginity years ago, considering how eager he is. Sure, he fantasizes about lots of guys and he’s fairly well acquainted with his right hand, but being a gay kid doesn’t help his case and turns out he goes to a pretty fucking straight school. Sergio would say that’s false and the odds are there are a lot more gay kids here than they know about, but please fake Sergio in his mind, shut up.</p>
<p>Martín fumbles with his backpack and fishes out his very beaten up looking breakfast.</p>
<p>“Holy crap Palermo, <em>cariño</em>, what the fuck happened to your banana ?!”</p>
<p>“I practiced sucking dick on it.” He glances down at his poor banana, the browning teeth marks along its length and the nearly bitten off tip. “There’s room for improvement.”</p>
<p>He means for it to sound pouty but can’t stop the laughter bubbling in his chest and soon they’re all laughing themselves to tears. They’re his friends, <em>la banda</em>, and no matter how harsh their comments may be sometimes, he knows they only worry about him jumping head first without thinking too much about it, and getting hurt.</p>
<p>“Palermo, you <em>are</em> the sluttiest thing I’ve ever met.” Why, thank you Tokyo.</p>
<p>“What we gotta do is take your mind off him,” Denver eventually says once they’ve all stopped laughing like a bunch of hysterical hyenas. “Tonight, we all go out for pizza, and then maybe a movie, or the arcades, I don’t know.”</p>
<p>It does sound like a good plan, and they all agree on meeting up at their favorite local pizzeria at 6pm.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They decide to have lunch outside to enjoy the warm and clear weather. The girls lie down in the grass for a bit of sunbathing and Martín chats with the boys when Sergio suddenly groans in annoyance and attracts Martín’s attention. He’s holding a banana— it really is a snack of choice —that’s not so good looking, yet still much better than Martín’s this morning. </p>
<p>“Fucking Andrés ruining all the bananas … He uses them as models for still life paintings. He said he throws them around then paints them however they land for an artistic touch, because ‘fruit bowls are boring’.” Martín blinks at him, in fact they all blink at him, thinking back to the previous banana incident of the day. Nairobi and Tokyo exchange a look and start laughing, and then they all follow, even poor little Sergio who doesn’t fully get what’s happening.</p>
<p>“Alright, I have physics next and I wanted to ask the teacher something, so I’ll see you ladies later,” Martín eventually says while standing up and throwing his backpack over one shoulder. He stops by his locker to grab his physics’ book, but frowns as a small slip of paper falls when he opens the door. He picks it up then carefully unfolds it, only to stare at the beautiful handwriting before his eyes and blink stupidly when he realises it’s a note someone actually <em>left in his locker.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Where pink hues like stardust falling from the sky, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>When apricot loses to indigo.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>What the fuck.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So Martín ends up <em>not</em> doing physics, and it’s a subject he usually loves. He’s more focused on trying to decipher what those two sentences mean. It could be just a short and cute poem, but it wouldn’t be in his locker if there wasn’t a secret message behind it.</p>
<p>And Martín is certain he knows who it’s from.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But he can’t just <em>ask. </em></p>
<p>So he works his brain hard, and even harder. Martín prides himself in being quite a brilliant guy despite all the dumb shit he does, and it shouldn’t be that hard to figure out. Andrés loves art class and he references to colors a lot in this, but clearly they’re metaphors for something else. Martín can do this.</p>
<p>Except, not quite as fast as he would’ve hoped.</p>
<p>He thinks about it over dinner with his friends, biting into his pizza and staring into space. He thinks about it during the movie they watch, barely registering what it’s about. He thinks about it all night long, barely getting any sleep and looking like a zombie in class the next morning, sleeping on his desk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It takes him three days. Three fucking days to figure out what it means, and still, he isn’t a hundred percent sure. He still decides he’ll give it a shot, because he so desperately wants Andrés he feels himself shaking every time he thinks about him.</p>
<p><em>The pink hues falling from the sky.</em> It’s not the right season for it to blossom, but Martín remembers the big cherry tree on school property. It’s behind the school, closer to the soccer fields but just far enough away to have some privacy. Martín remembers sitting under it with the girls one spring morning and watching the delicate pink petals fall from the blossoming tree due to the wind. That must be it.</p>
<p>And then he realised that<em> when apricot loses to indigo </em>probably just means at dusk. When daylight loses its battle against nighttime and the darkness that comes with it.</p>
<p>To the cherry tree at dusk.</p>
<p>Now, Martín <em>does</em> feel stupid walking there three days after finding the slip of paper. Surely he’ll find himself alone and regret not being more clever and figuring it out faster. He still goes, because he has to. He put too much effort into it not to.</p>
<p>He uses his phone to light his way to the cherry tree, because it’s not completely dark yet, but just enough that he feels more comfortable having a source of light, just in case. He finds it alright, the trunk big enough that he sits with his back to it and feels like nothing can catch him off guard from behind.</p>
<p>Great. Now what.</p>
<p>“Took you long enough,” a voice suddenly sneers and Martín jumps, groaning as his brain recognizes the voice a second later and he realises it’s only Andrés and not some crazy bastard here to hurt him. He stands up to face the other boy, and it suddenly occurs to him that Andrés has probably been here for three evenings in a row, waiting for him.</p>
<p>“What kind of message was that ?”</p>
<p>“What ? You love art.” The smirk on Andrés’ lips shows Martín that he knows it wasn’t for his love of art that he hurried to the art class every Tuesday morning.</p>
<p>“But that was cryptic as fuck.”</p>
<p>“You loved it.” Bold of him to assume that, but before Martín can say that he’d prefer something less complicated next time, Andrés places a hand on his chest and pushes him back against the tree.</p>
<p>The bark is rough on his skin through the thin cotton of his shirt, but it doesn’t matter, not when Andrés is looking at him with such <em>hunger</em> in his eyes, one that mirrors Martín’s. He parts his lips on a shuddering breath, ready for Andrés to kiss him, to bite, to <em>take</em>, but he does no such thing. His fingers, warm against Martín’s skin, gently caress the side of his face, then cup his jaw. His thumb traces his bottom lip and Martín darts his tongue out to give it a gentle lick, which only earns him the tightening of Andrés’ hand on his face and a disapproving look. Martín gets the hint— <em>don’t move.</em></p>
<p>By the time Andrés stops touching his face, Martín is panting heavily as if he’d just had his breath kissed out of him. He’s also harder than he’s ever been before. He wants to taste Andrés, wants to claim those lips and lick his way inside, but Andrés has other plans that obviously don’t involve granting Martín’s wishes. The older boy gets down on his knees— and oh, okay, <em>that’s fine too</em>— and starts fumbling with the button of Martín’s jeans. He finally gets it undone and pulls the zipper down <em>with his teeth</em> and Martín could come any minute now without actual touching if Andrés doesn’t stop looking so <em>hot</em> and doing those kinds of things. Once his pants are pulled down to his knees, Andrés grabs him by the back of his thighs and inches closer, his breath warm on Martín’s cock through his underwear, making him squirm and shiver. Andrés’ hold tightens and he runs his nose along the lenght of Martín’s cock, then blows on the head, where a few beads of precum are already soaking the fabric. Andrés chuckles, low and rich, and mouths at his cock through his underwear, pulling back slightly with a raised eyebrow when it twitches and a moan rips from Martín’s throat.</p>
<p>“Are you gonna come, Martín ?”</p>
<p>And Martín is close, oh so very close already, but he bites his lip and takes a few deep breaths through his nose to calm himself down before he shakes his head— he can’t manage words anymore. He wants, he needs this to last, needs Andrés’ mouth on him and he wills himself to hold back as long as he can.</p>
<p>Andrés hums and slides his index fingers inside the waistband of Martín’s underwear to pull it down and finally free his cock. His breath hitches, Martín notices, and he finally gets the hints that Andrés is enjoying himself too. The older boy then wraps his lips around the head of Martín’s cock and all coherent thoughts leave his brain. There’s only pleasure left to feel, to taste, to enjoy. The evening air is cold on his bare thighs, but Andrés’ mouth is hot on him. It’s so quiet around that Martín can hear every little <em>hum </em>Andrés makes that vibrate pleasurably through his cock, every sinful sucking noise and every sound that he himself can’t hold back. He’s not usually that loud when he pleasures himself, but Andrés manages to draw some beautiful moans out of him and he doesn’t try to hold them back. He wants Andrés to hear him.</p>
<p>Martín tries to keep his eyes open, but it’s proving difficult. He still does his best to keep watching Andrés, not wanting to lose any second of the gorgeous sight that he offers, down on his knees for him, his lips lustfully wrapped around his cock and taking him as far as he can. A bit too far, maybe, for Andrés suddenly chokes himself on Martín’s cock, gags and pulls back with a frustrated groan, as if pissed at his own gag reflex. It only makes him hotter in Martín’s eyes.</p>
<p>Andrés really is a sight for sore eyes. Moonlight shines on his face and bathes him in a beautiful silver glow that makes his gorgeous features look almost heavenly, out of this world. Andrés blinks and looks up at him through his damp eyelashes, his lips red and shiny with spit, and Martín has to close his eyes not to come right there. He doesn’t dare think that the best image of Andrés is right after he choked on his dick, but— <em>oops, he’s thinking it.</em></p>
<p>It doesn’t take very long after that. Andrés keeps sucking him off until Martín is a moaning mess, barely holding himself up and grasping at the tree trunk in his back for purchase as he desperately keeps himself from thrusting into Andrés’ mouth. The tree bark cuts at his palms but he feels no pain, only pleasure, only the hot mouth on his flushed and sensitive cock.</p>
<p>“I’m gonna come … “ he tries to warn Andrés, who doesn’t let go and only inches him deeper in his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and sucking him through his orgasm as it overtakes him and he spills deep down Andrés’ throat in hot spurts and twitches of his cock. Andrés chokes, as expected, pulls back and manages to swallow some of it but has to cough the rest out in the grass to catch a well deserved breath of fresh air.</p>
<p>Andrés gets back to his feet, leaving Martín to pull his underwear and pants up and make himself more presentable. The older boy looks debauched and delicious, and this time, when he pushes Martín against the tree, it’s to kiss him deeply and let Martín taste himself on his tongue, on his lips. He then pulls back and lets go of Martín, clearing his throat. Impulsively, Martín reaches for him, trying to undo his belt with the idea of returning the favor, but Andrés puts a hand over his and stops him.</p>
<p>“There’s no need.” Martín looks up at him with a confused frown, which makes Andrés laugh. “You’re just too late for that, <em>cariño</em>.” Oh. He glances down, sees nothing, so he brushes his fingers against the front of Andrés’ pants and <em>oh.</em></p>
<p>Andrés pushes him back against the tree, but this time there’s nothing very sexual about it.</p>
<p>“You’re not to talk about this to anyone.” His voice is still slightly hoarse <em>from sucking </em><em>Martín’s dick. </em></p>
<p>“Are we gonna do this again?”</p>
<p>“Wait for my next message. Try and decipher it faster, next time. I won’t always wait for you.”</p>
<p>And Andrés turns around and leaves him there, walking back towards the school with his hands in his pockets, as if nothing happened. Martín has to take a few minutes to process everything that just happened, then proceeds to walk back home, his legs a little shaky and his heart still racing from the thrill of it all.</p>
<p>Maybe Lisbonne was right, maybe Andrés is bad news, and maybe Martín will get his heart broken.</p>
<p>But he doesn’t care.</p>
<p>And he’s ready for it.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Short tribute to Berlin deliciously putting his fingers in his mouth all the time, which may or may not be my new favorite thing.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Whenever Martín feels himself in need of intellectual masturbation, he can think of two things : masterful heist plans, or Andrés. Trying to unravel the walking enigma that is Andrés de Fonollosa always provides Martín with both satisfaction and frustration, often in a fragile balance that makes it so addictive.</p><p>By this point, he thought he had Andrés figured out pretty well.</p><p>But then, of course Andrés does something else that throws Martín off and leaves him searching for new answers, for explanations.</p><p>It’s <em>thrilling</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Life is built around tension and pleasure.</p><p>Tension is due to the build-up of sexual energy and pleasure comes from its discharge.</p><p>Everything obeys that very simple law.</p><p>Deep down within the human being resides a primitive component that acts as a driving force, that strives only to satisfy the most basic urges and needs. It’s wild, primal and beautiful in its violence. Of course, most people learn to compromise with this force of nature and develop adequately into healthy and functional human beings, with the ability to delay gratification and follow social rules and norms.</p><p>Others hit a few speed bumps along the way.</p><p>It shouldn’t be surprising that André is part of the latter.</p><p> </p><p>When Martín sees him biting on his fingers for the first time, he mistakes it for anxiety. It’s not uncommon for people to bite their nails under important stress and he doesn’t think much of it.</p><p>When Martín sees him biting on the tip of a finger for the second time, he mistakes it for seduction. It does make Andrés look desirable, a little coy and playful, and he doesn’t think much of it— well, it <em>does</em> arouse him, but the act in itself doesn’t seem concerning.</p><p>When Martín sees him feasting on his fingers for what feels like the hundredth time while sluttily staring into space, he realises it goes way beyond stress or seduction. Not to go all Freudian on him, but this oral fixation Andrés has is getting out of control. That primal and instinctive force is focused on that gorgeous mouth as it becomes the primary erogenous area of stimulation and satisfaction, which often leads people to smoking, drinking or other compulsive mouth-related habits of the sort— but Andrés … Andrés bites and nibbles and sucks on his fingers like they’re the tastiest thing he’s ever had in his mouth.</p><p>It’s driving Martín crazy.</p><p>He’d thought Andrés had more of an anal fixation. An obsessive personality driven by his need to control, unwilling to let too much go due to the pleasure of holding on to what he has, just like a toddler refusing to go potty to enjoy the control they have over their parent. Once again primitive and pleasure-driven, but still a little more elaborate than the oral stage.</p><p>But if all Andrés needs is oral stimulation, Martín can think of something <em>else</em> he could put in his mouth to satisfy that need and alleviate the tension.</p><p>Of course he doesn’t try to suggest Andrés should suck his dick. He knows that stupid <em>mitochondrion</em> won’t allow it <em>yet.</em></p><p> </p><p>Martín manages to make it through a whole day of watching Andrés give speeches to hostages, walk around proud as a peacock and put his fingers in his mouth like they’re particularly flavorful candies. <em>Seriously, how did Martín never notice him doing that before?</em> The heist is thankfully going well, so by night time, once the hostages are tucked in their sleeping bags and the lights are off, Andrés and Martín get some time to themselves. Tokyo is watching the hostages, Nairobi is melting gold, good for them.</p><p>Martín has the best role in that story.</p><p>Because when things get quiet at night, Andrés lies down with his head on Martín’s lap and lets him pet his head. It’s a moment they both enjoy, as Martín runs his fingers through Andrés’ hair and gently massages his scalp and Andrés closes his eyes and hums appreciatively. Andrés is like a cat; proud and elegant and he thinks he owns the place, owns <em>people</em> and deserves things to go his way. Apparently he enjoys a good petting too, once in a while. Not in the sexual sense of the term.</p><p>Andrés practically purrs under his touch. It’s a warm and low sound that does things to Martín, but what’s new? Everything Andrés does makes Martín horny. His mere existence makes Martín horny. He trails his fingers down the side of Andrés’ face, brushing against his skin and following the beautiful line of his jaw. A lazy smile stretches Andrés’ lips and he tilts his head back just a little, raising his chin up for Martín to caress under it as you would with an actual cat. There’s something quite intimate in the touch, but it isn’t unusual for them. <em>No homo sensuality.</em> Well, very homo for Martín, but Andrés is an idiot that has his desire shoved so deep up his ass he doesn’t even know it’s there yet.</p><p>Martín then brushes the pad of his fingers against Andrés’ lips, his own breathing speeding up at the soft feel of them. A few seconds pass before Andrés parts his lips and takes the bait; he gently bites down on Martín’s finger and flicks his tongue against the very tip. When Martín can’t hold back a soft moan, Andrés chuckles with amusement around his finger and the hot exhale of air on his skin sends a shiver through him. Andrés gives a last and long lick to his finger then lets it fall from his mouth. He then offers that lopsided grin of his with just the right hint of smugness in there to have Martín huff in mock annoyance and rub his finger on the man’s lips to messily coat them with Andrés’ own saliva, making them both chuckle.</p><p>Asshole.</p><p> </p><p>One day, he’d get him to suck his cock.</p><p>Just you wait.</p><p> </p>
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